Snow
by sangre antigua
Summary: The Winchester boys are stuck in the “Snowpocalypse” while on the case, and are snowed in a sleepy Virginian town for a few days. WINCEST.


**Author: **sangre antigua.

**Rating; Title; Pairing: **M; Snow; Dean/Sam, WINCEST.

**Summary: **The Winchester boys are stuck in the "Snowpocalypse" while on the case, and are snowed in a sleepy Virginian town for a few days. WINCEST.

**Warning/Disclaimer:**Do not own _Supernatural. _Slash. If you don't like it, don't read it.

- - -

Dean had had a bad feeling about the job for the start. Not because he thought it would be difficult—it was a standard salting and burning, so the only thing difficult about it was digging up the grave and doing just that without being noticed—but because of the weather. The weather usually didn't faze him, as he had been brought up as a youth to push through the pain—or the heat, or the cold—in order to do his job, and do it well. But there was something oddly ominous about the snow clouds in the sky as the Impala smoothly rolled into southwest Virginia. Maybe it was because they were so damn _gray_, or maybe it was the fact that they went on for miles, touching everything in their path and making the world so damn dreary. But Dean didn't like the way they hung, a gray curtain ready to part and let out the main act.

That night at the crummy motel at which they were staying, Dean claimed his too stiff bed and flipped through the local channels on the ancient TV. News broadcasters told their shitty jokes, laughing halfheartedly amongst themselves as they went over the nightly news. He was worried about the forecast, not the new library that opened or how hard the recession was hitting the state. So he tuned out the library story in favor for his cheeseburger, groaning inwardly at the huge slab of beef between two warm buns with everything slabbed in between. Not eating all day surely didn't agree with Dean Winchester, but when local food was this good, he could bite his tongue.

Somehow managing to keep his food in his mouth without getting it anywhere else, Dean turned up the television when the meteorologist's segment started. The man smiled too much and made the usual bad joke as he gestured towards the southern United States, starting in the very eastern corner of the state and slowly making his way to the westernmost tip. Near Norfolk and Chesapeake, the skies were drab and snow was expected, but at worst there was only rumored to be one to two inches at max. But as they man's forecast moved more and more west, the total amount skyrocketed until he heard the man say, "We're expecting up to two feet in snow tonight. Make sure to be safe. Don't drive unless you have to, and make sure your house is stocked up before it starts snowing."

Snow wasn't that bad, but when it was _that much_, Dean fretted over it. Why on earth would anyone live somewhere where you'd get _two feet_ of snow? Given, this wasn't the normal weather regiment for this State, but, damn! That was a lot of snow.

This was going to make the job difficult, especially since the snow was supposed to start tonight and they knew nothing about their case.

Dean said nothing of the forecast to Sam when the other man returned with his rabbit food, turning down the sweet, almost sinful greasiness of a cheeseburger for leafy greens and—Dean shivered—"healthy". He figured, hell, he's so damn tall, anyway, he probably could see the snow forming in the clouds whenever he walked.

Unfortunately, Dean assumed wrong, because he was woken up the following morning at six thirty to, "Oh my God, look at all the snow. Shit! ...Shit, shit, shit!"

The plan had been to sleep in until around ten, get some information on the deceased star of their supernatural show, salt and burn that bad boy and then skip town. That plan had crashed and burned, mainly because, as Dean came to find out, the snow was at least five inches deep when he was woken up, and coming down with a hellish fury.

"I didn't think that it would come down that fast," he mused to himself, shrugging his shoulders and deciding against brushing his teeth in favor of going back to bed.

Sam made his patented bitchface as soon as he registered his brother's words. He crossed his long arms over his chest and sat against the window, ignoring the jolt that the cold windowsill gave to his butt to keep his stern face. "You knew it was going to snow?" Sam asked, speaking slowly and pronouncing things clearly for emphasis.

Deeming it too early to start arguing, Dean figured it would be better to just give up the ghost and tell Sam everything, rather than have his little brother chew him out in his big boy voice or give him the silent treatment all day. "Yeah, I knew. I figured you did, too, Sasquatch," he deadpanned, wiggling into the mattress to get comfortable.

The other hunter laughs to himself in a bitter sort of way, cleaning under his nails to keep from boiling over so early. He had only gotten up to piss and had every intention of going back to bed—until he saw the snow. Sam Winchester without sleep was like a cat in water. Grumpy and unfriendly and likely to attempt at removing the flesh from your face in ribbons. "I didn't know, Dean," he replied, still speaking slowly. "Do we even have stuff good enough for this kind of snow? And how much are we getting?"

"Uh..." Telling him two feet would send Sam into über bitch mode, and it was entirely too early for that. So Dean shrugged nonchalantly as he turned to face his brother, his giant little brother hunched over to keep his shoulders from touching the cool glass. "Not much more. I think. I was eating."

Though not entirely helpful, his answer was adequate enough for Sam to get off his case. The younger Winchester groaned, ran two hands through his hair and sat back on his bed, his body thankful for the warmth. "There's a mall a few streets down. I'm going to get up in another hour or two and see if they open to buy snow boots. If they're closed, I think there's a Wal-Mart around here somewhere. Dean, don't let me oversleep. I'm setting the alarm—make sure to get me up."

His only answer was a grumbled string of "okay" and curses.

- - -

I got the idea for the story because, uh, well, I live in Virginia, and it's snowing like a motherfucking here. It's fucking _awesome_ as hell, dude. I was totally stuck between Dean/Castiel and Dean/Sam, but I decided to do a Wincest because I'm already writing a Dean/Castiel and it only seemed fair. (:

More whenever I get around to it. Reviews are love.


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